Stealing Time
by RosesBud
Summary: He was a fool to think that was the final time he’d get the urge to see her again. 10th Doctor, post Doomsday.


Disclaimer: Doctor Who is property of the BBC.

**Stealing Time**

The first time, it's the Powell Estate and he is peering over a low wall bedecked with graffiti and watching as she gets the message. When she turns and runs back the way she came, blonde hair flying and Mickey in her wake, he stands and watches her go. If she turned back and saw him, she wouldn't recognise him anyway. And he knows she won't turn. Single-mindedly she'll run and run and not stop until she reaches the TARDIS and finds a way back to him.

.-.-.-.

He'd thought that it would be enough, one glimpse and he'd be satisfied. But it isn't enough and so the second time, the sun is shining and he is sitting on the front wall of a red-bricked house, ostensibly reading a newspaper – although if anyone bothered to look, they'd see it was upside down. It's more tricky this time and much more dangerous, because as well as him being here, _he's_ here too and he has to be careful to keep a mental shield up, so he doesn't detect himself. His head hurts, just thinking about it. But now he's distracted from the headache because Mickey has just been eaten by a wheelie bin. Later, marvelling at the state their relationship must be in, for Rose not to notice that a plastic doppelganger has taken her boyfriend's place, he watches as they drive away. He wonders if Mickey's driving improved, once he was back to his normal self.

.-.-.-.

He was too far away, he decides. Rose was only there for a second and she was gone. The third time, he tells himself that this has to be his last – seeing as this is quite possibly the most stupidly stupid thing he's ever done - so he decides to make it worth it.

Reamus. They had a fight. He remembers it clearly because she was gone for four hours and he couldn't find her. He had become a little frantic, until Jack dragged her back to the TARDIS. He'd found her in a bar, he'd said. She'd been there all evening. She'd told them she liked the name of the place. Mickey's. He'd scowled and refused to apologise for whatever it was she wanted him to apologise for. He'd really been a bit of a sod back then. He knows that Jack didn't find her until just after midnight local time and that means he has three hours.

The atmosphere is heavy with odd-smelling cigarette smoke and the heat of hundreds of bodies packed in to a relatively small space. For a moment he stands at the door and looks around. It's busier than he'd hoped and darker. He thinks she's most likely at the bar and that the bar is probably against the far wall, but in the fog of smoke he can't see it from here. Pushing through the crowds of people filling the dancefloor in the middle of the room – though how anyone can dance to what sounds like sped-up bird song he's not sure – he is beginning to seriously doubt his chances of spotting her when he stands on someone's foot.

"Watch it!" a gruff voice warns him and he drags his gaze ceiling ward about a foot to address his victim.

"Sorry," he grins. "Just trying to get to the bar, no harm meant."

The man-beast – for it is at least seven foot tall, and looks a little like a Gruffalo – grunts and moves aside to let him pass, and that is when he sees what it is holding behind it's back.

Her eyes meet his and they are pleading. The Gruffalo has a tight hold on her slender wrist. Indeed, it's massively massive and hairy hand covers almost all of her forearm. Wordlessly he stares a moment at her achingly familiar face, before breaking out in a massive grin.

"There you are!" he exclaims. "I've been looking everywhere for you." Which, of course, is not even a lie.

She's wearing that red top, the one she'll wear on the Gamestation. Her hair is loose, tumbling about her shoulders. She rewards him with a relieved smile and – catching on as quickly as ever to one of his schemes – begins to wriggle away from the Gruffalo's grasp.

"Darling!" she beams. "At last! I thought you'd stood me up."

"Not a chance," he tells her, reaching for her free hand and pulling on it quite insistently, the Gruffalo looking between them, slowly realising it has lost it's prize. "Now if you don't mind," he tells the bemused creature. "My wife and I will be leaving."

Once he has pulled her safely as far as the bar he takes a deep breath and turns to face her, releasing her hand.

"God, thanks!" she tells him breathily. "I think that was a bit of a close one."

He smiles warmly. "You should be more careful."

"I know, I usually am." She looks sad for a moment. "I'm not usually on my own, my friends aren't here tonight."

"Good," he tells her, and then clarifies when she looks confused. "That you're not usually on your own."

"Oh," she grins. "Can I buy you a drink to say thanks, I have some credit."

The Doctor looks over her shoulder at the bar a moment. He really shouldn't stay any longer, or he'll run the risk of her remembering him when he regenerates – which, after all, is not that far off for her now. But then he catches her eye again and it's really not fair that she is so beautiful.

"Unless you have to be somewhere? Meet someone?" she asks, seeing that he is hesitating. "Someone real I mean," she adds, smiling cheekily.

"No," he tells her, somewhat too forcibly. "I don't have anyone to meet."

"OK," she smiles again. "So what would you like?"

He's mindful of the time. It's almost midnight and Jack will be here any minute to turn her back in to Cinderella. They have spent the last two and half hours talking, laughing, reminiscing – although Rose doesn't realise it, she's merely been recounting tales of her adventures as far as she knows. He is pleased that she doesn't embellish or exaggerate anything. Her life is exciting enough for her just as it is. They have both drunk far too much of a local alcoholic speciality, although it is affecting her more than him. He is far more intoxicated by her very presence. It's like a living dream, to have her here, sitting this close, smelling so good. Hearing her voice, thrilling in her laugh. She needs to feel better tonight. Happy and alive. She is using him to make that happen. She thanks him over and over, for saving her from the Gruffalo. He suggested the name and she adopted it, laughing and saying her young cousin has those books. She doesn't even pick up that is an Earth story, and means he knows her home planet. He suspects she's just too drunk. Being with her is so good and yet an undercurrent of unease runs within him. He knows he's pushed his luck far beyond the limit. He only meant to see her properly this time, but he's spent all night with her. Drunk as she is she'll remember his face, his voice, his stupidly iconic dress sense. He knows he can't let her and that means he going to have to rob her of this evening before he leaves. He's not sure what hurts the most, knowing he'll be violating her - getting inside her mind in a way he knows she's uncomfortable with and without her permission – or that she'll not remember this evening they spent together. That he'll have it to keepsake, to help get him over losing her and yet one day she'll stand on a windswept beach in Norway without that comfort.

She pulled her chair around to his side of the table a little while ago and now she's smiling happily, and winding a lock of golden hair around one finger. He thinks she's probably attempting to seduce him. Good job he knows Jack will be here any moment or it could work. He shifts in his chair to bring his face closer to hers and talk to her. Oddly like bird song it may be, but the music in here is very loud. She is startled to find him suddenly so near and gasps, a sound which he never realised could make him feel like _that_. She recovers quickly and smiles, catching her bottom lip between her teeth a moment.

"I have to go," he tells her, his mouth brushing her ear.

"Oh," she replies, crestfallen. He wonders what she thought he was going to say.

"I'm sorry Rose," he tells her and she opens her mouth to tell him that in all this time they've spent talking he's avoided exchanging names, but finds it covered with his own.

She goes very still a moment and he wonders if he's overstepped the mark one time too many today. But then she's reaching out for him blindly, her eyes closed, and deepening their kiss. He revels in the feel and taste of her for a moment before stroking his finger tips up the side of her face and sliding them across her temple. It's the work of a moment and he pulls away gently, his hearts heavy. Rose is frozen in place, one hand raised where she had laid her finger tips at the point where his jaw met his neck, her eyes still closed. He knows he only has a moment and darts away, leaping behind a pillar near the bar just as Jack bursts through the crowd nearby. Another all too familiar face and the Doctor can't help but stare.

"Rose!" Jack calls, grasping her shoulder gently and giving it a shake.

"Huh?" she asks, her eyes fluttering open. She focuses on her friend. "Jack?"

"We've been looking everywhere for you," he tells her. "The Doctor won't admit it but he's worried sick, let's get you back to the TARDIS."

"Oh, ok," she agrees, accepting a hand as support when she stands. She looks like she's trying to remember something and the Doctor prays that his terrible betrayal has worked. She looks around suddenly and he has to flatten himself behind the pillar to avoid her gaze.

"There was someone I wanted you to meet," she tells Jack, frowning and holding her head.

"Well there's no-one here now," he assures her. "I think you've had a little too much to drink," he chuckles. "Let's get you home."

Rose accepts this and with Jack's help she stumbles away, clinging desperately to the last threads of a delicious dream – one that, for some reason, tasted like marmalade and felt like a double pulse beneath her finger tips.

.-.-.-.

He was a fool to think that was the final time he'd get the urge to see her again. He's not sure it'll ever stop happening, but he knows he will no longer act upon it. He can't believe he was stupid enough to do so in the first place. He came so close to causing a paradox and it didn't even make him feel any better. He'll treasure the memory of that night forever, but whenever he thinks about stripping her of the same it brings him crashing down.

From now on, whenever he gets the urge to see Rose, he sends his ship far away from anywhere they have visited together, a million light years from 21st Century London and to a time before she was even born. Once there he throws himself headlong in to whatever trouble he finds, straightens time, leads investigations and joins rebellions. He meets new people and occasionally invites them along.

He might save the universe a hundred times over before he thinks of her again.

But he always will.


End file.
